Songs Of Bernadette
by like-an-officer-and-a-sergeant
Summary: This is what I think the episodes in the Season 3 might look like, not in a chronological order, and not a continuing story, but fragmentary. Apologies for my non-native English, as ever.
1. Chapter 1

Songs of Bernadette

It was beginning to dawn, but it was still dark in the bedroom. They lay peacefully, spooning in each other. She was cradling in his lap, her back close to his chest. His arm was around her waist and hip. Being so much taller, his chin was on her hair, and his eyes were twitching slightly in his sleep, as if he was still wondering what this corn-colored soft tissue was and if it was true that he was entitled to be engulfed in it. In a state between sleep and consciousness, she searched for his hand on her hip and clutched it with a contented snort. The touch made him turn a little, move downwards so that his chin met her neck: his mouth was now resting near her ear. Even though they looked restful, there was a sense of alertness in this embrace. An element of wonder.

The telephone rang. He furrowed his brow, she gave a short sigh. For a moment, there was no movement.

"It's for me," he said.

"No, it's for me. The Johnson baby," she said.

"The old man Allen. For me," he claimed.

"Perhaps we should answer..?" she said.

"No... ," he mumbled while nibbling her ear.

"Yes..., " she insisted while letting her hand run through his ruffled hair without turning around.

"I'll get it," he said.

"No, I'll get it. Yes? Mrs Turner speaking. Okay. Yes. -It's for you." She gave the receiver to him.

"Dr Turner speaking. Yes. Yes. When did this happen? Okay...I'll be there in 15 minutes." He put the receiver down. He got up and started to put clothes on. "I'll just pop out at Allens'- and there is a chance I might get back for breakfast. No, no, don't get up now, it's still freezing cold." He kissed her hastily on forehead, but she pulled him down.

"That tie is not very beautiful ...," she chuckled with a kiss. "Take care with the car ". A further nudge with her nose. "Yes, I remember, Timothy needs money for the school trip . Off you go now. Go..."

"I'll be back in within two hours. Shelagh, my...have to go now."

He tore himself away and moved downstairs fast, in his gangly gait. He was humming by himself when he collected his bag. She was listening, now wholly awake in the bed, finding his eager but a bit out of tune singing reassuring bordering on the ridiculous. Never could she have thought she was entitled to such certainty, of his love and this newfound spontaneity. She remembered the earlier time she had heard that tune, in her mind, alone in bed, anguished, unsure, bristling with the memory of his caress. She fondled the scar, now very light, in her hand.

_"Why must I meet you in a secret rendezvous? Why must we steal away to steal a kiss or two? Why must we wait to do the things we want to do? ..." _


	2. Chapter 2

Songs of Bernadette, part 2

It was early morning in the Nonnatus House. Shelagh heard a knock on her door. She checked the time, 6 o'clock. She had been convalescing now "at home"—this is what her home was, for the time being—for a week now. She had been seeing Patrick daily, and the news of their engagement had been taken with a variety of feelings, but mostly with astonishment and pleasure. She went to the door.

"Good morning, Shelagh". It was Cynthia.

"Good morning, Cynthia. Is something the matter?"

"Well...I don't know. I am just back from the Thompsons'. A premature baby, and Doctor Turner was called in because of it. There is a suspicion that the mother might suffer from...tuberculosis. Doctor made a quick referral for her to hospital. I asked him in to have a cup of tea, and now he sits there silent and seems quite forlorn. Could you...I know that it is perhaps not a thing to do, but..."

"Just one second. I'll be there". There was no hesitation in Shelagh's decision. Appropriate or not, she would be there. She put the dressing gown on, and dashed into the corridor. Only when she reached the door of the dining room did she slow down. She saw him sitting by the table, slumped. He turned around.

Dr Turner had never before seen her with her hair down. He gasped at this sight at the door step. The morning light made her look like an apparition.

"Shelagh! You should not be up this early. You need rest..."

She came forward with determination and put both her hands on his shoulders. "Patrick, is something the matter? Cynthia told me that you had a rough night".

He smiled to her feebly and slowly fondled her arms. Then he drew her a chair by him, and made a gesture for her to take a seat. They sat quietly for a few seconds.

"You look...different," he said.

"You do not," she said lightly, trying to ease the pressure, "I have seen you in the wee hours after work before. Now, tell me."

He sighed. "I don't know, I just feel...so vulnerable." She again put her arm on his arm and searched for his hand. They sat together–indeed, like soldiers after a battle, she thought.

"It seems there is again a new mother with TB. Cynthia told you?" he said.

She nodded. "But it is not just that, is it, dear?" she ventured.

He let his head drop to his chest and he closed his eyes for some seconds.

Then he started to speak, slowly at first, with some hesitation, but then more confidently.

"You remember the day I had to give you your x-ray sheet. With lesions in it. We had such expectations of curing the people in Poplar in time. Then it had to be you who needed to be rescued from TB..."

"Patrick, I ...I was rescued. Don't forget that", she intervened.

"I knew that you with your medical knowledge needed to know the result straight away. I had to respect your right to know the entire situation. There was so little for me to do for you. All I could do was to force you to take a lift in my car to the hospital, and to the sanatorium. "

She smiled at the memory. She felt that she could not interrupt him anymore. He seemed to have an urgent need to get this off his chest.

"Yet I didn't want to seem overbearing, just as if the illness wasn't enough for you to bear with. You life was overtaken by the specialists, by the sanatorium rules. I could not imagine what your ideas... of future... would be. It isn't like I didn't respect your faith... I tried to understand what it meant to you. When faced with...the odds of tuberculosis. Remember, you once said: "_In times like these, I wish faith would make a difference."_ I prayed for you. Wishing that your faith would matter. I felt it was unworthy to long for you, to want to hear from you, when you had this struggle. Triple treatment indeed. Miraculous. What bloody right had I to talk of miracles...but I hoped for that miracle. But for your sake, not mine, or Timothy's. When I heard of you responding to the treatment, I was so happy. Although it took only 10 seconds for me to think of...us. Even though you didn't write back to me. Even though I heard you were going to convalesce in Chichester without coming back to Poplar. A silly old man, I thought I was...An old fool with irrepressible hopes and wishes."

"And then I called you from the sanatorium", she said. She just loved the sound of his voice, simple, husky.

She let her head lean on his arm and took a firmer grip of his left hand.

"You know me." he continued, looking at her ruefully. "I get excited because of penicillin. Because of the air and gas to kill the pain... With the hope of finding a cure. Penicillin!..." He made a large gesture with his right hand...but then turned to her, grinning wanly. "Now I can't get over your hair...it's so beautiful." He stroke her head carefully, slowly.

She raised her head and put her right hand on his cheek and kept it there for a long time. He stopped stroking her hair, letting his thumb caress the curve of her chin. Her eyes were filled with tenderness and compassion. In his eyes, she could see a strange mix of weariness, nervousness and relief. Then he captured her left hand and gave a hesitant kiss on her wrist. They suddenly fell into a deep embrace and he was hungrily kissing her, as if he had just found her shivering on the road. She held him tight by the shoulders, like never letting go, melting in his arms, breathless. She started to whisper in a low voice between the kisses.

"Shelagh...my own...what are you saying?" he asked.

"Just quoting the Bible."

"Really?" he chuckled. "Should I know the text?"

"Yes, you should. By chapter and verse. _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine."_

_"Winter is past,..._ermmm... _the rain is over and gone?"_he continued, a little uncertainly. "Is this from the same book?"

"Yes, it is. So you know it! Hidden depths in my beloved. My beloved old man..."

"Being old means that I got a good biblical education at school, you sassy girl. Before scientific training."

_For your precious love means more to me__  
__Than any love could ever be_  
_For when I wanted you I was so lonely and so blue_  
_For that's what love will do_

_Darling, I'm so surprised,  
Oh, when I first realized  
That you were fooling me  
Darling, they say that our love won't grow  
I just want to tell them that they don't know  
For as long as you, long as you are loving me  
Our love will grow wider, deeper than any sea  
And all the things in the world, in this whole wide world  
Is just that you would say that you'd be my girl_

_(Wanting you) Wanting you,  
(I'm lonely and blue) Whoa, lonely  
That's what love will do_

_For your precious love means more to me  
Than any love could ever be  
For when I, I wanted you I was so lonely and so blue  
That's what love will do_


	3. Chapter 3

Songs of Bernadette , part 3. Thy Fire of Love.

They now had a routine: even between grueling work schedules, they tried to arrange to meet properly at least once a week. Not just fleeting moments when passing by in their duties, not just stolen looks when they thought no-one was seeing, not just the happy banter with Timothy and the quiet contentment that he was their shared responsibility now. There had been a few social occasions for the new couple: a tea with Granny Parker, a dinner at Nonnatus house with the Sisters and nurses, helping Chummy and Peter in their removal to their new home.

But understandably they mostly wished to spend time with each other. There was another routine to be learned: how to think, speak and feel freely with another person, to learn to give and take, to investigate the past and future, together. It isn't like giving and taking was new to Shelagh: the idea of community life is giving and taking and trusting implicitly. But it is different with just one important person who relies on you just as implicitly as the nuns relied on God and each other. Sharing his life with someone wasn't of course new to Patrick - but he had been struggling after Moira's illness and death, and he had deliberately kept his mind focused on dealing with the practicalities of his life a as a widower and a single father.

When Patrick arrived at Nonnatus House to pick up her for their date, it was Trixie who opened the door.

"Oh, nice to see you _again_, Dr Turner. But you just left. Did you forget your instruments or something?" She was full of mischief. His mouth twisted a little and he raised his eyebrows.

"Nurse Franklin. Trixie... (he had partially moved to first-name basis with the nurses after his becoming a part of "the family"). Is Shelagh ready?"

"Yes, I think she is. Shelagh! Our good doctor...oops...I mean _your _good doctor is here and eagerly waiting."

"Trixie, shut up." This rather blunt expression came from the former nun Sister Bernadette. "I am coming". Shelagh arrived, a bit annoyed, although she was learning to give a word for word. Patrick's face lit up when he saw her, all smart in one of her new two-piece suits. She smiled at him, and took his arm. This gave Patrick a new courage to face the world of all Trixies.

"Doesn't she look good, don't you think so, Nurse Franklin?" he asked Trixie, with a hint of danger in his voice. Trixie demurely agreed. "Good. For once, we're all agreed. Sometimes I don't know who I would meet less willingly: the nosy Timothy at home, Trixie here or the Grand Inquisition. I'm afraid Trixie that you pulled the shortest straw today. Goodbye". He gave her a firm look, and guided Shelagh out of the door so swiftly that Trixie was left speechless.

In the yard, Shelagh gave way to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He joined her mirth, and it gave him extra pleasure to hear her silvery cackle and to watch her so hilarious and unreserved. He took her by the shoulders and mildly shook her. "Such language, Nurse Cassidy. Shut up? Where did you pick up those expressions, our reverend Shelagh?" he mockingly preached as he lowered his head to give her a tentative kiss.

"In my not-so-saintly youth, my good doctor. _My _good doctor. Mine..." she touched his cheek. Then they turned to the alley, and walked fast towards Kenilworth 19 in perfect, if a bit light-hearted bliss.

They had a large tea together, discussing the mundane everyday matters. This was one of the most heartening aspects of their new relationship. In the end, though, the conversation slowed down. They moved to kitchen to wash the dishes together. He looked absent-mindedly at her finely-shaped, small hands washing the plates and cups while he took up the drying and placing the items in their place. She was humming as absent-mindedly. Then he heard how her breathing got faster, and she seemed lost in her thoughts, with a plate in her hand, as if she didn't know what to do with it.

"Shelagh." He had by now learned to listen to her silences, and not to burden her with undue curiosity. He, too, started to breathe more deeply and he stopped the drying. He put the towel down and let his gaze rest on her. His eyes were gentle and undemanding when he asked her again: "What are you thinking of? Can I help?"

"I was just wondering. How we got here. Remember the times at work last year, when we sometimes had moments of ...awkwardness. "

"Yes. I do. I didn't know for a long time what that awkwardness meant." He took her wet hand and held it quietly. "What I especially didn't know was what it meant for _you. _ Can you tell me about it...?"

She drew a breath, her eyes still on the dishes and the water, her fingers in his hand. She was clearly happy to be asked. She raised her head and began to speak hurriedly, as in anxiety.

"It meant a great deal! But it was full of such contradictions. Remember the time I started to talk to you about spirit lamps and how they get damp and won't burn. And yet while I talked this, I already had a flicker inside, a small fire smouldering—my words seemed to betray me. I didn't know if it was you or me or some senseless diversion, a way to the destruction of all I was, all I had been."

She swayed a little and put her another hand at the sink to support her. He put his hand on her shoulders. "Is this a distressing subject? Do you want to drop it?" he asked worried.

"No, it is time I tackled it. You know I talked with Sister Julienne of many feelings I had about leaving the order and the new life that seemed to be beckoning. But I could not discuss with her these moments. Of the beginnings of our relationship. It's not that it was somehow improper. It was as sacred as my religious feelings. But it concerned another human being, you. Its sacredness belongs only to us two." She gave him a faint smile, finding his incredulous, slightly bewildered look sweet. "Don't be so perplexed. This is very simple. You already know a lot about me. Why not learn the whole story?" He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I will listen to you, my darling. It is just so...shattering to be taken seriously as a person. Shall we move to the sitting room to hear the rest"? He guided her to the sofa and put his arms around her.

Her head resting on his chest, she continued the tale.

"First I seemed to only feel sorry for you. And Timothy. I could understand my feelings for Timothy more easily than for you. I knew you as a first class professional, and I admired you. Then this aching for you started to get more acute. When you kissed my palm..."

"Poor baby..." he murmured and grasped the scarred hand tightly into his, and raised it to his lip.

"I was speaking the truth when I said that I wasn't turning my back at you because of you. Your kiss was like a revelation. You seemed not just to love me, but to hold my poor little person...in a kind of reverence. My whole woundedness you took as yours in that kiss, to be healed–only by you. My doctor." She broke down a little with the idea: it was a mixture of a sob and laughter. "My doctor, indeed". He felt her in his lap, soft and wonderful, and his heart was in his throat. He swallowed, and did not quite know how to respond. So he just slowly raised her head and searched her mouth and very gently kissed her. She kept touching his head, his ears and his forehead as if they were the most precious thing on earth. Then he started to find some words, in a hoarse voice, partly delighted, partly self-conscious.

"I like to be singled out like that. Yes, I am yours. All my healing powers are yours." He tried to tread lightly on this terrain. "Quite a responsibility for you, too." She started to giggle. Slowly, the atmosphere changed from charged to more ordinary. But they remained seated like that for a long time, until the sound of Timothy opening the front door made them move apart.

_**Thy blessed unction from above  
is comfort, life, and fire of love.  
Enable with perpetual light  
the dullness of our blinded sight.**_

_**Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.***_

*This is from Veni Creator Spiritus hymn (Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire). This is the verse that is in episode 8, when Shelagh puts on her 1948 suit instead of habit.

Inspire = breathe


	4. Chapter 4

**I tried to find an element in which the insanity/irrationality of love and babies could be addressed together. It had to be either Timothy or Sister Monica Joan as the "mouth of babes". I find Monica Joan's musings elevating and I have been excited by the interplay of the quotes and lyrics in this show. Thank you very much for your reviews and support. I seem to revise the text every time I publish, never a final version, it seems. I know there is an Americanism here, but as it suited the story...**

Song of Bernadette. Part 4. Of myths and men.

Shelagh had invited Patrick and Timothy for a supper at Nonnatus House. As the schedules of midwives were not similar, supper could mean a meal with some of the sisters or nurses, or a bite for just the three of them. With Timothy, it was hardly a quiet supper with regard to the level of noise. This time he was going to the cub meeting after supper and while helping his dad to set the table, he was describing some of the latest games they had invented at school yard. Shelagh took meat and cheese from the fridge and when she was seeking bread and cake, she saw Sister Monica Joan at the door.

"Ah. _The lot of Abelard and me._* In domestic bliss, this time," she commented wryly.

Shelagh had long been familiar with the nonagenarian's idiosyncrasies. "Good evening, sister. Welcome to join us." She smiled to her, and was too focused at cutting the bread to be reminded of medieval romances.

Patrick appeared at the other door and greeted Sister Monica Joan. He took the bread and cake from Shelagh.

"So, it is four cups and plates. Timothy, say hello to Sister and take one more cup and plate with you to the table". Timothy bowed and said "Hi Sister" and went to the dining room with more china and came back for the bread and cake.

"You have such a sensible and a sweet son, Doctor," Sister Monica Joan beamed.

"Thank you, Sister. His prospects seem to have improved... by the latest happy events, I mean." Shelagh silently admired his courage to not beat about the bush.

"Yes, true, Doctor. And your prospects, too, I should say." Patrick and Shelagh exchanged furtive glances and both hoped that the water would boil very soon.

"I should say that you truly followed the course: _Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..._**_"_

"Yes, Sister." Patrick was a bit nervous about where this was heading.

"I must say that you followed that course in such a rapid manner, and yet with such appropriateness, that we can't blame you for robbing our Heloise from us."

"Sister Monica Joan", he said wincing, "you know that I am not as well educated in classics as you, so I can't right now remember Heloise's fate. But I hope that you do not feel so very deprived without Shelagh."

" Shelagh was always one of the meek. She will inherit the earth. Unlike the other nuns or nurses, she was never much after cake."

Patrick and Shelagh couldn't help laughing at this, over making tea.

"Thank you, Sister, I am glad of your good opinion", Shelagh said, trying to keep a straight face. "Let's go to the table. It's cinnamon cake today".

After one cup of tea, two loaves of bread and a large piece of cake, Timothy excused himself and left for the cub meeting. Patrick allowed himself to secretly hold Shelagh's hand under the table now, and they kept stealing glances and smiles. The conversation was, as always with Sister Monica Joan, fragmentary and surprising.

"Tell me, Doctor, do you think that you could have...found each other without gamma rays? Surely you know that they are from the galaxy of Andromeda. A most radioactive constellation." Shelagh and Patrick, bemused, decided to nod in perfect unison, even if Patrick's face revealed that he wasn't certain of this choice.

"Sister, as a doctor, I believe that gamma rays may play a role in universe, as in diagnostics, but how does Andromeda relate to them?" he inquired.

"Oh you know the myth of Andromeda. A king's daughter tied to the rock, until the gallant Perseus saved her. Some need saving from other situations. Shelagh, or Sister Bernadette as she was then, seemed sometimes like between a rock and a hard place."

"Please, Sister", Shelagh intervened with some anxiety, "my path was indeed hard, but not that hard. I know you were worried over my sadness, but everything turned out to the best. Oh don't you think so?"

Sister Monica Joan patted her hand. "Certainly, my child, certainly. I have seen so many happy endings—and unhappy, too. If the stars are at a right alignment, who can be against us? _Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us_...from God. But Andromeda..."

Shelagh, who understood Bible, could see some point in the declarations of this endearing, perplexing Sibylla. Even Patrick, who had previously deemed her senile, could not help being fascinated by her poetic statements.

"Yes, what about Andromeda, the goddess of radioactivity?" he heard himself saying.

"Oh, she had Autochtche and Gorgophone."

"Ermmmm...who are they?" Shelagh asked.

"Daughters. Babies of female sex. Of Andromeda and Perseus. How many daughters are you going to have?"

The glorious names seemed to be the final straw. Patrick and Shelagh found themselves helpless with laughter. Shelagh hid her red face against Patrick's waistcoat. Sister Monica Joan seemed unperturbed by this reaction.

"It is good to think of these things properly, my children." She sighed. "It was a good cake. You take my advice and think about it. I will retire to the privilege of silence". And she left.

The pair was left sitting with the hot potato. Finally, Shelagh let her eyes meet Patrick's.

"Well, Perseus." He started to hoot again and gave her one kiss, then two, and embraced her tightly. Strengthened by this, she asked with a trembling voice: "Seriously, Patrick, would you mind having a baby?" He cupped her face and let her see his wide grin. "Sure. Sure I would like to have a daughter called Gorgophone. With you." And they kissed again, in total contentment.

* _Eloisa to Abelard_ by Alexander Pope (in Ep. 5: _But now no face divine contentment wears,'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.)_

** _To the Virgins, to make much of Time_, Robert Herrick

**Why Do Fools Fall In Love**

_Ooh wah, ooh wah  
Ooh wah, ooh wah  
Ooh wah, ooh wah  
Why do fools fall in love?_

Why do birds sing so gay  
And lovers await the break of the day  
Why do they fall in love?

_Why does the rain fall from up above?__  
Why do fools fall in love?__  
Why do they fall in love?_

Love is a losing game  
Love can be a shame  
I know, Im a fool you see  
For that fool is me  
Tell me why  
Tell me why

Why do birds sing so gay  
And lovers await the break of the day  
Why do they fall in love?

_Why does the rain fall from up above?__  
Why do fools fall in love?__  
Why do they fall in love?_

Why does my heart  
Skip a crazy beat?

_For I know  
It will reach defeat  
Tell me why  
Tell me why_

Why do fools fall in love?

___Tell me why  
Tell me why_


End file.
